


Fate Is a Fickle Thing

by Padraigen



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, First Meetings, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony has mildly stalkerish tendencies, but Steve's cool with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padraigen/pseuds/Padraigen
Summary: Steve gapes, his mouth hanging open unattractively for a few seconds before he can gain control over it. “How… what are you doing here?”Stark just shrugs, the movement casual but the look in his eyes strained. “Looks like destiny had us in the cards after all.”—Happy Steve Bingo 2019 prompt square: Airports/Terminals.





	Fate Is a Fickle Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the Happy Steve Bingo 2019 square _Airports/Terminals_.
> 
> This work is unbeta'd. I apologize for any glaring mistakes.
> 
> Seeing as the bingo challenge requests HAPPY Steve, I have not included a lot of angsting over Steve's unrequited love for Bucky. I hope that's okay.
> 
> Enjoy!

The decision is last minute, the kind one makes when they’re desperate and don’t know what else to do, just that they have to do _something_. Something to get out, get away for awhile before they lose their mind about the ‘what-if’s and ‘could-have-been’s.

It’s how Steve ends up at LaGuardia on an ostensibly standard Sunday night… only there’s nothing standard about it. Steve has no business being at the airport today—of all days—except for the fact he’s making an unplanned flight out to DC.

He’d gone to the wedding, alright? He’d played the part of best man, and did so with a surprisingly genuine smile on his face. He’d toasted to his best friend and his lovely new wife’s long and happy future, and he’d meant every word. But now he’s tired. Tired of holding it together, tired of hiding the way his heart pangs with a dull, familiar ache every time he sees Bucky smile at Natasha like she’s the only person in the room. In the entire world, more accurately.

He’s not bitter, per se. Except that he is, a little bit, but after the last few harrowing months he’s had, he thinks he should be allowed that much. Not that it makes him feel any better. Steve shouldn’t be feeling this despondent at all; not after all this time. _He should be over it_.

No matter how many times he tries to tell himself that, no matter how many times he tells himself he didn’t miss out on his chance because there had never been any chance to begin with, it doesn’t help. He still feels like shit.

“Is this seat taken?”

Steve does not startle, but only because he’d seen the man approach. Well, he’d seen the man’s expensive loafers approach, but all the same. He only startles once he looks up and sees none other than Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, standing above him. It’s an effort not to shoot out of his chair and hold out his hand like an idiot, like he’s still in the army and still has to play nice with these corporate types.

He can’t help sitting up straighter, however, or the polite “Mr. Stark,” he greets the man with. “Not at all, please have a seat.”

Stark raises an eyebrow, but takes the chair to the right of Steve. Steve’s courteous enough not to mention the sea of empty seats surrounding them even if he is curious why Stark would take any interest in him.

Stark doesn’t say anything for a minute; doesn’t properly introduce himself or ask Steve to do so, and Steve might normally be irked by that but right now he’s just happy for the distraction the man provides from his own self-pity.

And then, a couple minutes later, “What’s with the pink bow tie?”

Steve’s so caught off guard by the random question that he blurts out, “Magenta.”

“What?”

Steve winces, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t really want to talk to this stranger anyway, CEO of a very influential company or not. “The color—it’s magenta.”

“Right. But that didn’t answer my question.”

Steve sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had somewhere to be.” Stark says the words with a smile best described as playful, and Steve really hadn’t planned on a billionaire teasing him when he’d woken up that morning.

Steve smiles, Stark’s grin infectious—and if the way his brown eyes glint, Stark knows it—and says, “I… Well, I guess I just don’t want to get into it right now.”

“Fair enough.” Stark adjusts his position in his chair, crossing one leg over a knee and resting one hand on it. “So, where are you headed?”

“DC.” And because Steve’s feeling a little badly by his subpar answers, he explains, “I’m going to see a friend. It was sort of a last minute decision, actually.” He gestures to his haphazardly packed bags and the tuxedo he hadn’t bothered to change out of before he’d left for the airport.

“Running away, huh?” Stark says, like he knows anything about it. Like he knows anything about Steve.

“Not running away,” Steve protests immediately. “… Just making a brief but necessary retreat.”

“Sure.”

Steve bites back a huff, and asks, “Well, what about you, then? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to LA—for business-related reasons, unfortunately, but if you really don’t have anywhere you _need _to be, I figure you can tag along and make the trip a little more pleasurable. For the both of us. I’ll even buy your ticket.”

Steve will admit he’s surprised by the brazen come-on, though he really shouldn’t be. Look at who he’s talking to.

“I… you want me to go to LA with you? You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t even know you, _yet_.”

“Mr. Stark—”

“Tony.”

“I’m flattered, really, but I can’t just go to LA with you.” Nevermind that Steve actually, sort of _wants_ to. A lot. “I’ve already talked to my friend in DC; he’ll be waiting for me tomorrow.”

“So cancel.”

“Mr. Stark—”

“Tony.”

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m not ready for—I mean, I’m not looking…” Steve trails off and lets his head drop in defeat. “I just can’t.”

Stark is silent a moment, and it takes more courage than Steve thought he had in him at the moment to look up at him. There is disappoint written in the lines of Stark’s handsome face that clears the moment he sees Steve staring, and Steve pretends he hadn’t seen it there at all.

“Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Another of Stark’s grins light up his face then, and Steve wonders if perhaps this one is a bit less genuine.

“So,” Steve says after a quiet, awkward moment, “You said you’re going to LA for business-related reasons?”

Steve is relieved when this change of topic is enough to get Stark going on an animated tangent. It’s always easier when he’s the one doing the listening, and—if the way Stark hardly lets him get a word in edgewise—he would agree with that assessment. Steve finds that he likes the way Stark gestures broadly with his hands and is greatly amused by his many hyperbolic anecdotes. Enough of his sharp-witted comments and intelligent observations almost have him forgetting his own troubles.

At some point, Stark had stopped talking and simply stared at him, and it takes several moments for Steve to even realize. When he does, he flushes and demands, “What?”

Stark’s lips have quirked at the corners, his clever eyes shining meaningfully. Steve’s never put a lot of thought into him before, but like this—up close and personal—he’s undeniably gorgeous. “You’re simply captivating… has anyone ever told you that?”

Steve blushes even redder and rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve given me much chance to say anything.”

“No, that’s— I mean it, bow tie. You’re… enthralling.”

And Steve can’t look at the sincerity there, indisputable, in Stark’s eyes, so he instead focuses on the toes of his dress shoes, thinking off-handedly that he could have at least changed into something more comfortable. “That isn’t my name.”

“Well, you never told me your name.”

“Well, _you_ never asked.”

Stark smirks and leans closer into Steve’s space, enough so that Steve really thinks he should mind. But he doesn’t.

“Okay. What’s your name, bow tie?”

Steve is opening his mouth to tell him when he hears, _“Flight 307 to Washington, DC is now ready for boarding.”_

Steve’s sure there is a time in his life when he’s been more disappointed than he is right now, but at this exact moment, he can’t remember when that might’ve been. Probably when Bucky had announced his engagement to Natasha, but he’s got that memory blocked and pushed back pretty far in his mind, so it isn’t really comparing.

Steve leans back, out of Stark’s space, and swallows all that disappointment back. He’s probably never going to see Tony Stark again, so why should he give him his name? Why should he give him his story? Stark’s clearly meant for the stars, and Steve… well, Steve’s simply drifting through space without a destination. Steve wants a lifetime with somebody, and he couldn’t have that with Bucky, and he definitely can’t have that with Stark, so why bother?

“I need to go.” Steve grabs his two bags and stands up, already preparing to say good-bye. It was fun while it lasted.

Stark’s eyes widen, and he’s quick to get to his feet, his hand reaching out to grab Steve’s forearm before he can get away. “But you never told me your name.”

Steve sighs, pulling his arm back gently, but Stark isn’t letting go. “Mr. Stark—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake—!” Stark breaks off abruptly and then lets his hold on Steve drop. “It’s Tony. Please, call me Tony.”

But Steve can’t. Can’t be that familiar with him, not even in the few remaining minutes they have knowing each other.

“It was nice meeting you,” Steve says, trying to infuse it with all the honesty that he’s feeling, even as he backs away.

“Wh— at least give me your number.” Stark’s words are coming faster now, like he’s anxious, or maybe even desperate. Steve shakes himself, tells himself he’s imagining it.

Still, he stops, purses his lips and stares back at the toes of his shoes, as if they hold the answers. Finally, he looks up and says, “If we meet again, then I’ll give you my name and tell you my story.” The words are implausible, if not entirely impossible. He thinks that’s probably why he’s said them.

“Really?” Steve can hear the incredulity in Stark’s voice and feels guilty for it, but not enough to change his mind. “So you’re, what, leaving us up to fate?”

Steve shivers imperceptibly at the words, at the use of _us._ But it sounds about right. Perfect, even. “Yes,” he says with all the certainty he feels. “Goodbye, Mr. Stark.”

He turns to walk away, and does not stop once to look back.

“It’s Tony!”

*

Staying at Sam’s is admittedly not the reprieve Steve had hoped it would be, although not for lack of trying from them both.

While he’s managed to push Bucky from his mind for the most part—the ease of it coming from years of practice—that just leaves Tony Stark to take over his thoughts for the entire two weeks he stays in DC.

It’s only on the flight back home that he really questions whether or not he’s just made the worst mistake of his life by turning Stark away.

And it’s when the plane lands that the full devastation hits that he’ll probably never see Tony Stark again.

That’s why it’s such a surprise when he hears a vaguely familiar voice calling to him as he’s exiting the arrival terminal.

“Hey, bow tie!”

Steve’s head jerks up of its own accord, his breath catching in his throat painfully when he sees the familiar man standing there, not ten feet in front of him. His heart kicks into gear even as he comes to a stop a few feet in front of Stark, ignoring the way they’re both probably blocking foot traffic, and it takes a few moments of swallowing and licking his lips for Steve to get out, “Mr. Stark…?”

“Tony,” Stark corrects easily, as if he’s come to expect it. “Fancy seeing you here, huh?”

Steve gapes, his mouth hanging open unattractively for a few seconds before he can gain control over it. “How… what are you doing here?”

Stark just shrugs, the movement casual but the look in his eyes strained. “Looks like destiny had us in the cards after all.”

Steve can only stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“Right. Uh, so, actually… I don’t have a flight. Crazy, I know.” Stark kicks the heel of his shoe against the tiled floor, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

Steve is definitely not prepared for that admission. “You’ve been trying to... how?”

“I hacked your flight information. Been tracking the flights from DC to New York.”

“You can do that?”

“When you have as much skill and money as I do, bow tie, you can do just about anything.”

“That’s...”

“Creepy and slightly stalkerish? That’s one way to look at it, sure.”

Steve shakes his head a little, dazed at the surreality of the moment. “How else should I look at it?”

It’s only now that Stark—_Tony_, he corrects in his head, figuring it’s the least he can do to repay the effort of trying to find him—appears faintly embarrassed. He clears his throat before saying, “How about in a way that’ll make you want to say yes when I ask you out for a drink?”

Steve swallows, “Mr. St—_Tony._ I don’t kn—”

Tony doesn’t let him finish, although Steve notes that he does look pleased by the use of his first name. “Look, Steve, I’m fascinated by you. And I admit that sometimes I will go to obsessive extremes for things I’m fascinated by, but that’s not what—Christ, and this really isn’t how I wanted to go about this.”

Finally, Steve decides to take pity on him, stepping even closer until they’re almost chest to chest and ignoring the increasingly alarming rambling. He knows even from their first brief encounter that Tony’s normally a much smoother talker, and it’s a bit endearing that Steve can make him so flustered. And besides, should Tony turn out to be a murderous stalker, Steve is more than capable of handling himself.

“If you know my name, why do you keep calling me bow tie?”

“I like nicknaming people. And to skip some of the redundant getting-to-know-you pleasantries, I also know your last name is Rogers, you’re thirty-two years old, and you were born in Brooklyn. And you’re an Army man.”

Steve pauses. “Okay, how did you—?”

“Lucky guess,” Tony smirks, evidently abandoning his previous embarrassment. “And to think I was about to go with Navy. It’s the way you hold yourself, all severe frown and impeccable posture…” he trails off at Steve’s raised eyebrow. “Okay, and I also might’ve seen the dog tags hanging out of your bag the first time we met.”

Steve is grinning before he can even consciously approve of the action, still a little awed that Tony is even here. That he didn’t miss his chance. “So…”

“So,” Tony echoes, mirroring his grin. “I already know your name, but you still owe me a long story.”

“I only said I’d give you those things if fate brought us together again. You cheated.”

“Actually,” Tony counters, “_I’m_ the one who brought up fate. And besides, maybe I believe that we make our own destiny.”

Something within Steve erupts at those words, the shock of it enough to freeze him where he stands. Tony mistakes the reaction for hesitation and entreats, “C’mon, Steve, whaddya say? Drink at my place? It’s only a couple miles from here.”

Steve shakes himself, rewarding Tony’s earnest look with a smile. “Alright. But just one drink.”

Tony grins, self-assured once more. “Only one? Military man like you can’t hold his liquor?”

“I can hold my liquor just fine... I just—“

“No, no, it’s cool. Just one glass, and a chat about a pink bow tie.”

“Magenta.”

“So you keep insisting.”

Steve shakes his head, the smile on his face so broad he fears his cheeks might crack. “And no funny business.”

Tony’s eyes narrow in mocking offense. “What are you, ninety?”

“I mean it, Tony.”

“Seriously? Not even any slightly-comical business? Okay, alright, _alright_...” Tony ignores Steve’s protests as he takes Steve’s carry-on, forcing Steve to follow him out of the airport lest he never wants to see his bag again. “But you should know you’re missing out on a great time.”

Steve shakes his head again, his unfading smile a pleasant ache on his face. He doesn’t say it, but for the first time in a long time, Steve doesn’t think he’s missing out on anything.

He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, and have a moment, I would really appreciate knowing your thoughts in the comments! Thank you very much :)
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://padraigendragon.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
